Mr. Walters conveys the reality of mystical worlds and our interaction with them very eloquently. He states that there is “one true love in its infinite expression,” meaning there is one connection, above all others that can make us feel whole, like our full selves. This book is highly recommended for the reader seeking a love story that knows no limits. As a metaphysical novel, one can expand their views of worlds and civilizations existing with us, and how we may affect those close to us with or without our knowledge.
“Sacred Vow” is highly recommended, and a sequel would be much welcomed. — for Reader Views
Installment 14 of 22 of the serialization of Sacred Vow (Dragon’s Beard Publishing, ISBN: 978-0-9774271-4-7, paperback, Fiction: Visionary/Metaphysical).
It had been several months since the experience of the tense return from the visit with Katerina. Ian didn’t recall right away what had been going on at the time. As best he could remember, it was just like the months that had preceded it. He spent his days with computers at work, went out with friends, came home, and then did this all over again. Ian’s initial memories of those uneventful times were faint. He had been a little preoccupied with more recent concerns.
Trying to think what may have had a terrible effect on his paranormal teas, he tried to summon unpleasant memories.
Actually, Ian had to admit that things had been going particularly well through that period of life. Work, his friends, all seemed to be going through a positive phase. His time working and socializing had been carefree and happy.
Just as Ian was about to throw up his hands in defeat, he remembered a project member at work whom he’d found particularly irksome. It was not that the person ever did anything that truly warranted such feelings. This fellow was just one of those people whom Ian always felt conflict with, even when they agreed.
“I’ve got it. Dixon Peerit! For the whole time I worked with him, I felt a strange tension.”
“There is a way, Ian, to get a little better idea if your contact with this person had the type of consequence we’re looking for. It sounds like you’ve probably had a previous experience similar to what I’m suggesting. This is something like a guided meditation. It’s not hypnosis, just a method of relaxation to help you focus on a subject. It will allow me to get a feeling for your subconscious mind’s assessment of Dixon. So, if you’re willing, get comfortable and close your eyes.”
Certain they were on the verge of a solution, Ian closed his eyes without hesitation. “Ready.”
“Just relax,” Djalma said. “The first thing you have to do is to let go of all your conscious beliefs about what has caused a change in the visits.”
Djalma was silent, and Ian made every effort to let go of his hope that they were about to find the reason his visits had become distorted.
“Now, slowly, breathe deeply into your diaphragm, not your lungs. Hold that breath. Slowly, breathe out.”
After a few minutes of this, Djalma asked him to remember Dixon. Despite instructions, Ian had already been revving up this memory. In his mind, Dixon was inextricably guilty as the source of Ian’s misfortune.
Djalma peacefully coached Ian: “Bring up the memory of Dixon. Release any thought of him, but hold the image.
“Hold it. No thought, just hold the image.”
As soothing as Djalma’s voice and instructions were, Ian was ready to jump into action when Djalma said, “Okay, now let the image go, and we are going to come back to full awareness . . .
“Breathe deeply, and open your eyes when you are comfortable.”
Ian stared at Djalma, anxious to hear his conclusion.
“It’s not him,” Djalma said when he opened his eyes.
“Are you certain? That guy used to give me the worst feelings—”
Djalma cut him off. “And there might have been a good reason, but it seems as soon as he left your project, you were no longer concerned with him.”
True, Dixon had not crossed Ian’s mind since he was moved to another project area.
“You’re certain?” Ian was having a hard time letting go of his hope that the only unpleasantness he could recall during that time was the answer to the problem.
“I’m certain. Dixon did not have a lasting effect on your consciousness, and that would have been the only way another person could affect the journey through you. We’ll have to try again.”
Shaking his head, Ian said, “There’s nothing. It was a particularly good time in my life.”
“That does not preclude the type of effect we are looking for, Ian. You should also be trying to remember anything you found uncommonly pleasant or enjoyable during that time. It could be an impressive or exceptionally agreeable person whom you had just met, or a wonderfully satisfying experience that happened shortly before that time. It could even be new music you had just discovered, something that had an unusual impact.”
It seemed like an odd request. Look for the good as the root of the bad? Ian just sat there in disbelief.
After a few minutes he began searching for the best, not the worst, of his memories of that time a few months earlier.
“Of course, there are always new songs on the radio,” Ian offered.
“Any that you continued to listen to once they were not played on the radio or that changed your musical tastes?”
“No . . . there were movies that I saw and enjoyed, but none I’ve given much thought to since.”
They went through everything Ian had done for several months leading up to the first unpleasant experience. Ian was almost regretting that he had such a precise memory and that he had so many good things to remember. By the time Djalma was finished, Ian was beginning to grow weary of that stretch of time, which he had just remembered as so satisfying.
Djalma latched onto Ian’s mention of a fellow who was the team leader of the same project that he’d worked on with Dixon, Peter (pronounced Pay-ter) Rostich. Ian assured Djalma that was a dead end, but Djalma was having none of it. The more tribute Ian paid to Peter, the more adamant Djalma became.
Peter was one of those people everyone liked, a natural leader. He could get any member of his team to do just what he needed done. It seemed to be a talent that he had always had. No matter how much he asked of a person, that person felt it was no more than was reasonable, and Peter always showed his appreciation of his or her cooperation.
Even outside work, Peter was an exceptionally interesting individual. It seemed he must have begun to pursue his many interests when he was very young. He was musically talented, proficient in violin, piano, and several other instruments. Hanging from his office wall was evidence of considerable talent in acrylic painting, pen and ink, and digital art. He had used his very keen mind to become proficient in each media—and it seemed, many other accomplishments—one by one.
Peter loved his wife, adored his kids, and was dedicated to his community. Ian admired Peter’s way of looking at life; he believed Peter “had his heart in the right place.”
So Ian had to admit the positive experience of meeting Peter had stayed with him longer than his negative feelings about Dixon. One doesn’t meet such admirable people that often, he thought. But he could not imagine how that positive experience could have brought on such unpleasantness.
“Djalma, to be honest,” Ian finally said, “I don’t like the idea that something satisfying might set off dreadful experiences.”
Djalma’s look was disarmingly kind. “Peter didn’t cause the change. Bad results are not inherent in good things. Your experience is just the product of an accident. The energetic signature of your tea environment was perfect for the outcome you achieved and desired. Any significant alteration was going to make a change. It so happened that this time the resulting change was undesirable.
“Remember, few people, not even you in most cases, are likely to encounter such a doorway and generally have no need for concern. It was not meeting Peter that made the difference but rather his continued effect on you, your perceptions, and therefore your energetic signature. But this is assuming that Peter is the element we are looking for. If you’ll close your eyes and relax again, we’ll know soon enough.”
They went through the guided meditation process again. Several times Djalma asked Ian to hold onto the vision of Peter. Ian could not excite much faith in this pursuit, and the image faded. He was glad to have met such a person, glad there were people like Peter in the world, but Ian had no desire, then or before, to spend time visualizing Peter.
Finally, Djalma told Ian to release the image and come back to an alert state.
Ian sat silently this time, looking into Djalma’s eyes. Djalma had somewhat of a dazed look. For several minutes he just sat without speaking or blinking, barely breathing. When the trance broke, a smile spread over Djalma’s face, and he pulled from his pocket an ornate metal disk, about the size of a fifty-cent piece. He handed it to Ian, saying, “Take this into the room with you for your next tea.”
Ian turned the token over and over, enjoying the artwork of it, without making any comment or asking any questions. There was something innately reassuring about having the item in his palm. He could hear Djalma taking in one long, slow breath after another.
“Your response to Peter is what we were looking for. It had a positive impact on your spirit, but it also changed your vibration, and therefore it changed the portal for your reality shifts. I’m expecting the token to counterbalance that change.”
Ecstatic at the prospect, Ian rose immediately to his feet, almost knocking his head on the ledge of books above him. Clutching the token, which felt like his salvation, Ian hurriedly expressed his appreciation. “Thank you, Djalma. This is wonderful! Thank you, so much!”
Ian reached down, shook Djalma’s hand longer than he needed to, and pulled Djalma to his feet. Mixing goodbyes with more gratitude, he hardly let Djalma speak again. He was too eager to try Djalma’s solution. Besides, those herbs cooking on the stove had become a little too intense for his comfort.
As Ian made his way quickly through the woods toward his car, Djalma called from the porch, “Find out why you and she are in contact.”
Later, during his drive, Ian felt bad about the hurried, even discourteous, way he had fled from the meeting with Djalma. He had been able to tell from Djalma’s several attempts to speak that there was more to tell about this solution than Ian gave Djalma time to do so.
The truth was that Ian did not care to hear about any possible side effects or be given any precautions. He felt like he had a reprieve from a terminal disease. Anything that might happen had to be better than what he had been experiencing.
Continued next week, Parallels
copyright 2006 CG Walters
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C.G. Walters primarily writes fiction that focuses on the multidimensionality of our loves and our lives.